The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
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I was lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the faint hum of machines in the hospital room echoed in the silence. The dim light from the bedside lamp painted long shadows on the wall, and every tick of the clock seemed louder than usual.
Arjun’s hand rested on my stomach, heavy, warm, grounding me in a way nothing else could. His breathing was even—deep, slow, peaceful—his body finally at rest after days of pain and torment. I turned my head slightly to look at him. He looked so unlike himself: pale, vulnerable, wrapped in bandages, his strength hidden under bruises.
For a moment, I let my hand cover his. His fingers twitched in his sleep, and I smiled despite the ache in my chest. My heart ached for him, but my mind… it was elsewhere.
Because Aditya bhai’s words wouldn’t leave me.
“Almost done. Just one more move left.”
They looped in my head like a haunting refrain.
At first, I had brushed it off. Aditya bhai often muttered to himself when he was working on codes or hacking into some complex firewall. But something about the way he had said it, his tone—not rushed, not frustrated, but deliberate, almost satisfied—was unsettling.
My thoughts spiraled back to Vikram. The man who had caused so much destruction, so much pain, all brought down because Aditya bhai had hacked into his outdated security model. Outdated. That was the word.
Aditya bhai had struggled with it for days. He’d claimed it was messy, built in layers, confusing. Yet I remembered something clearly—Aditya bhai was supposed to be the best hacker in the world. That wasn’t an exaggeration. Even Arjun had admitted it once, grudgingly, that no one could match Aditya bhai’s brilliance when it came to code.
So why had he struggled with Vikram’s old, half-baked, practically obsolete system?
I shut my eyes, trying to fight the unease crawling through me. Was he pretending all along? Was he feeding Vikram information, delaying his downfall until the timing suited him?
I wanted to scream at myself for even thinking that way. This was Aditya bhai. Our Aditya bhai. The boy who made jokes when things got tense, who treated Ira like his own little daughter, who stood by Arjun in every storm.
And yet…
The words wouldn’t stop replaying. “Almost done. Just one more move left.”
It sounded less like a hacker celebrating victory and more like a mastermind finishing a game.
